


A Covenant Formed in Brotherhood

by Marsbarss



Series: Hetalia: Fantasy Verse [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Family, Family Feels, Kirkland bros as a family, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Werewolves, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 08:36:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18246263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marsbarss/pseuds/Marsbarss
Summary: The Kirkland's coven is shaken when one of their brothers, Finnagan, is cursed with lycanthropy on the night of the full moon.The coven must adapt and face this unique new challenge.





	1. Warlocks, Witches, and Werewolves

**Author's Note:**

> Mars, writing a Hetalia fic??? In 2019?? more likely than you may think. Evidently. 
> 
> uhhh Enjoy? This is my first Hetalia fic and it's a huge work in progress so feel free to give me any feedback in the comments!

In the city, beasts lurked in shadows, brought to hunt by the call of their mistress, the Full Moon. Light magic coursed through the fingers of the man as he stalked the hunter, silent footed and swift, sure to stay downwind. He felt the blessing of Morrigan give him strength, willing his spells to strike true against the enemy. What he hadn’t counted on was encountering a pack led led by a warlock. The blow that struck him came so suddenly that he was unsure it even did happen. Dark magic of a curse overtook his light, and something warm and metallic was forced down his throat. He blacked out to the siren call of the moon filling his ears.

===============

A horrible, blood curdling howl cut through the silent night as lightning flashed and thunder rolled over the expanse of Celtic highland.

The lights shot out and a young boy screamed, grabbing the fuzzy corners of his blanket and shoving his head beneath the cover, legs shaky where he sat on the couch. A warm body was around him in seconds, shushing him, “Hey, Peter, lad, yer okay.” Allistor’s voice was calmer than usual.

A heartbeat later, the room was illuminated by flame. “A werewolf? This close to the barrier?” Dylan muttered, brows set in a hard line. 

“Probably driven from the city by hunters, I’ll deal with the bastard.” Liam growled, wand clutched surely in his right hand as he looked out the window into the dark of the night.

It had only begun to storm a few hours ago, long after the sun set and the full moon rose into the sky. 

Finnagan had been due back earlier, but hadn’t returned. 

“It’s not like Finn to be late. Wasn’t he just going into the city for a supply run?” Arthur rolled magical fire anxiously from hand to hand. 

“Shoulda been back hours ago.” Allistor nodded.

Another flash of lightning had Peter crying out again, clutching tightly to the blue cloth of Allistor’s shirt.

Dylan was on his feet, tucking his wand and a spellbook into his coat. “I don’t like this,” He pursed his lips. “Finn late, a werewolf by our barrier. Things have been getting worse, lately as it is.”

“Finnagan can handle himself. The werewolf is more pressing. If it destroys any of our runes, we’ll have bigger problems.” Arthur added, plucking a heavy leather bound spell book from the coffee table after lighting the rest of the room’s candles. 

“Liam, stay wit’ Peter, we’ll handle this.” Allistor shoved the sputtering teenager at their younger brother and stood up, gathering his own spell book and wand.

The three older brothers left the secluded house with their wands in hand, Arthur’s hands already working magic. “It’s by the southern point of the barrier.”

“Let’s not waste any time then.” 

 

The barrier surrounded a two mile radius around the manor in all directions, trapping their home in a little magical bubble kept suspended in a pocket dimension somewhere between Earth and other realms. One approaching from the outside would come across nothing but woods, with runes burned into ancient tree trunks at three yard intervals. 

 

At the southern tip of the barrier was an ancient shrine to some long lost goddess of the wood. 

A werewolf, covered in shaggy red fur clawed at the ancient bark of a tree beside the shrine. Vaguely, it was aware of the song of the lost wood goddess, smothered by the call of the moon’s siren song. It was unbearing, a noise it was unable to stop, unable to drown out no matter how much it howled and growled and tried to claw its ears off. Which, really, amounted only in the wounds from its claws regenerating as fast as they were made.

The moon’s call was so lovely, too, so compelling. It was unparalleled beauty, and god did it want to please it. It told it to hunt. To kill. To stain the forest floor with the blood of prey. Humans. Humans with their pure hearts. Hearts that fed into the strength of the wolf. Hearts that sated the bloodlust, the curse of the wolf. 

It had a hard time coming up with reasons that it shouldn’t listen to the moon’s call. It was so hungry...it’s stomach empty and gnawing with a grotesque need for human flesh. There were humans nearby...in the city. Why was it out here again? There were no humans out here, only silly trees and stupid birds. Only this stupid shrine, no humans there to worship anymore.

Five inch claws tore into the tree, shredding bits of the rune, dispersing the magic. 

It couldn’t get past the barrier like this, it didn’t recognize him. Him. Right. Him. He was Him. Him was…..F…..f…...Finn! Finnagan!

He howled again, and it faded to a low whine in the back of his throat. 

Familiar scents approached from ahead, from behind the barrier and he howled once more. 

“Begone, beast!” A voice echoed from the dark, green fire blasting the wolf in one solid shoulder. 

 

It didn’t take them long before the three approached the barrier. Their brooms made the trip short, and the three were touching down on the ground at the edge of the wood before long, each setting their brooms against tree trunks. Allistor walked at the front of the group, wand at the ready but pointed downward. 

Dylan was at his right, Arthur at his left.

“There!” Arthur hissed, green eyes locking onto the sight of the offending monster.

“Begone, beast!” Dylan yelled as he hurled magical fire at the lumbering wolf which yowled and recoiled in response.

It stood to full height and on its two powerful legs it was well over six feet tall with red fur, darker around the muzzle and limbs. It was covered in expanses of muscle, a long snout extending from a canine face, bright green eyes glowing in the moonlight. Its fangs were about four inches long, ugly and horrible, able to easily snap human bones in half and tear through tendons and flesh like nothing.

It wasn’t a nice thing to look at overall, too large with it’s oversized, clawed hands and feet, a bushy tail that trailed behind it. Humanoid and monstrous, it was a vivid image of the curse that was lycanthropy.

Arthur readied another spell, wand pointed directly at the monster in front of them. The wolf winced at the magical light that formed at the end of the wand.

The werewolf backed up, falling onto all fours while whining and whimpering, tail between its legs.

“Wait- is it scared of us?” Arthur blinked, gaping at the massive beast. 

“Werewolves are often curse victims, not many choose this willingly.” Allistor pointed out. 

“...” Dylan stared intently at a chain that hung around the beast’s neck, shining when the light of the full moon hit it. “Hold on a moment.”

“What is it?”

“Look. Around his neck.” 

“His? It's a monster, Dylan-” Arthur scoffed, narrowing his eyes to focus on the beast’s neck.

There, was a necklace on a simple chain, with a pendant in the shape of a harp.

“Son of a bitch.” Allistor cursed.

===============

“What ta hell did ya get yerself inta this time, Finn?” Allistor growled as they escorted the shaggy ginger werewolf back to the manor. 

The full moon was still high in the sky, rendering their brother in this wolvish form for hours longer until the sun would rise.

The werewolf trotted behind the three as they rode on brooms. They moved fast to get out of the rain, thunder crashing around them. 

Their beast of a brother offered no response, focusing intently on remaining in control. The siren song of the moon called him to strike, to sing fangs into these fleshy humans. To spill their blood...to feast on their hearts and snap their bones. To drink in their marrow and leave nothing behind. He shook the thoughts, growling and focusing on his paws...hands? In front of him, as he ran behind his brother’s brooms.

“I’ll start lookin into ways to break the curse-” Dylan grit his teeth. They all knew that lycanthropy was something that you didn’t just make go away like any other curse. It was similar to vampirism in that way. There was no cure.

Arthur was fuming, probably already plotting to hunt down the bastard that did this, and he hardly said a word as they arrived at the manor. He got off his broom and flung the door open. “Finn isn’t in his right mind right now, we need to take precautions. The basement will do. He’ll thank us later.” The blond said simply, cloak billowing behind him as he headed to the mentioned room.

Finnagan paced nervously in the foyer of the manor, growling and scratching the floor with his claws. 

Allistor fisted a hand into the short, slightly curly fur and the wolf recoiled, ears pushed back. “Don’ wanna hurt us? I get it.” he sighed, watching his cursed brother act the most scared he’d seen him since they were children. Finn was rarely so openly terrified anymore.   
“Come on, Finny, let’s get you somewhere safe, we’ll talk in the morning.” Dylan’s voice was gentle. He was always the gentle one. 

All of them could see the amount of concentration and control it was taking Finn not to attack them. He was nothing if not determined.

Arthur had set up a bed of sorts in the basement and had moved any important artifacts out of the way. There was water set out and clothes for the morning, once Finn reverted back. He waited at the top of the stairs with heavy chains in his hands.

Dylan and Allistor escorted their brother into the basement and once they had said their goodnights, Arthur locked the door and enchanted it, for extra safety measures. The three exchanged a worried look as footsteps approached.

“What the fuck happened!” Liam demanded in a hiss, voice intense but not loud. Peter had finally gone to sleep, and was upstairs in his room.

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Arthur countered. “We found him like that,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

“We don’t need to argue about this right now, Liam.” Dylan’s voice of reason came. “We all should get some rest and then you can interrogate Finnagan in the morning.”

With a huff, Liam retreated to his room and after sharing a few words and more worried glances, the other three Kirkland brothers went to their respective rooms to hopefully get some sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Finnagan awoke with a crick in his neck and nothing on but a blanket. Blearily, he groaned and sat up, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the light of the basement.

The basement? How the hell?...

Right. Lycanthropy. He felt the beast beneath his skin, growling lowly in the back of his mind. He shuddered and ran his hands over his skin. Slowly, he lifted himself up from the pile of blankets and grabbed the nearby underwear, pants, and shirt that had been set out for him.

After shrugging on the articles of clothing, he spent a moment staring at his palms, as if at any moment he would shift.

He could, really, once he learned to control it. He could shift any time he wanted. The beast would always be hungry and eager to come out.

Suppressing a deep canine whine, the Irish man carried himself up the stairs, stopping in front of the door. With a flick of his wrist, the locks came undone and the door opened. The basement opened up to the hallway closest to the kitchen, with a bathroom farther down the hall. Finnagan’s stomach growled. He headed to the bathroom. 

One shower later as he stepped out of the room steam followed. He was greeted with the scent of breakfast cooking. Not Arthur, then, since he didn’t smell anything burning, he thought with the slightest quirk of a smile. 

Finnagan padded into the kitchen barefoot with just the pair of loose sweatpants he’d been given hanging from his narrow hips and a thin Glasgow Shipping Company t-shirt covering his long torso.

“Mornin’..” His voice was quieter than usual, probably due to his dry throat or the thoughts causing chaos in his head. It sounded rough, almost like it did when he was hungover. 

“Glad to see ya up,” Came Allistor’s voice, as he manned the stove, various things cooking as scones baked in the oven. He flipped eggs and stirred cubed up potatoes, sausage sizzling away in another pan which he pushed around occasionally. “Breakfast’ll be ready soon.” 

Finnagan replied with a grunt and made a beeline for the kettle, water already boiling. He fixed himself a strong cup of tea and plopped down in one of the old wooden stools at the island. He just held the mug for a few moments, feeling the hot tea warm his hands, staring at the dark brown liquid as if it would reveal all of the answers of the universe.

“Quit tryna’ intimidate yer tea.” Allistor snorted as he set serving plates full of food in the center of the island. Often, the brothers just ate there instead of the massive table in the dining room.  
Finnagan responded with a glare and a pointed slurp of his drink, before snatching up a scone lighting fast and shoving almost half of it down his throat immediately. 

“Hope ya choke, brat.” Allistor chuckled fondly, taking a seat across from his younger brother.

Finn rolled his eyes, flipped Allistor off, and polished off the last of the scone in seconds before taking another long slurp of tea. Empty. He frowned at his cup then refilled his mug before sitting down again and beginning to put food onto his plate. 

Dylan came through the archway leading in from the hall and grabbed himself a mug, fixing himself a cup of tea with plenty of milk and honey. 

“Ruin a perfectly good cup’a tea.” Finnagan shook his head, voice a little less scratchy now but still rough. 

“You like your tea as bitter as your personality, Finn.” Dylan hummed as he took a seat. 

“Dunno what yer talkin’ about. I’m all sunshine.” Finnagan waggled his egg covered fork at the strawberry blond before chomping down on the bite of food.

“If you’re sunshine, I’m the fuckin’ Queen o’ England.” Came Liam’s sneer as he walked in, opting for a glass of juice instead of tea and pouring one for Peter, too, who tumbled in moments after the teenager. He handed the glass to the boy before taking a seat and heaping loads of sausage and potatoes onto his plate. 

Peter smiled widely at Finn, “Good morning!”

This wrenched a smile from the Irishman, “Mornin, Petey.” 

With Peter in his seat and shoving food onto his plate. That left one spot empty. 

Finnagan relished in the peace that came from all of his brothers not yet being there, which meant a delay on the important talks that needed to be had. 

Arthur shuffled into the room a few minutes later, looking like he’d just lost an argument with a bear. His hair was a mess, sticking in a dozen different directions, with eyes dark ringed and his lips set in a frown(Not that they usually weren’t). He only huffed while he fixed himself a cup of tea and took his seat at the last stool. 

“Mornin, Artie.” Allistor flicked the younger sibling, who grunted in response and glared. Allistor laughed and grinned, shaking his head. “Never a mornin’ person.” 

 

Most of breakfast passed in silence from there apart from Peter talking animatedly to his brothers, describing the last time he went to Tino and Berwald’s house, or something he saw on television, or more often, just rambling on about his most random, sugar induced thoughts. 

Finnagan was withdrawn most of the meal, falling silent as he ate. He ate more than he typically did, and that included having more sausage than he usually might have. The Irishman was more of a fan of filling his plate with potatoes, but most of it was meat this time. He didn’t say a thing as he stood up to deposit his mug and plate in the sink. 

“Finny... are you okay?” Peter asked, his cerulean eyes wide and full of concern. Damn that kid for being more perceptive than he seemed. 

“‘M fine, Petey, just tired, ‘s all.” Finn forced a smile as he turned to look at the boy. 

“Don’t stay up so late then, silly!” 

“Peter, you stay up until one am most nights.” Dylan laughed. 

Peter huffed. “What’s your point?”

“I’ll make ya a deal, Petey. I’ll go ta bed early if ya do too, all right? Aaand if you hold up yer end o’ the bargain I’ll give ya a weekly allowance..” 

Peter’s eyes shone and he nodded his head. “Deal!” He held out his pinky.

Finn was hesitant, but held out his own a second later, and the deal was struck. 

 

The two shared a smile. Finnagan cleared his throat and excused himself, heading upstairs to grab some clothes from his room. He began to feel light headed halfway up the stairs, and swayed on his feet. 

“Shite..” He muttered and willed himself to keep going on shaky legs, leaning on the wall for support. A few arduous moments later he approached the third door on the right and pushed it open, sliding into the room. He clicked the door shut behind him and slid down against it, heart thumping in his ears.

Finnagan sucked in an uneasy breath, “Get ahold o’ yerself, Finn, come on,” He sat there for what seemed like a lifetime as his heartrate steadied and the lightheadedness faded. He gulped as he picked himself up off of the floor. He kicked off the sweats and shirt, tossing them towards the hamper.

 

===============

Liam, Allistor, Dylan, and Arthur were left alone once Peter had trudged off outside to play. The remaining brothers looked at each other. 

“I spent all night researching. Absolutely, bloody fucking nothing.” Arthur hissed, brows set in an angry line. 

“There has to be something we can do.” Liam frowned, leaning against the counter. 

“I didn’t come up with a thing either, my prayers were fruitless to produce results.” Usually, the gods answered Dylan. This time, it seemed they did not wish to converse with Emrys’ heir.

“Maybe we could ask Francis?” Allistor suggested, leaning on one arm thoughtfully. 

Francis was the Prince of the Fae. The fae were immortal, knowledgeable beings of pure magical energy, and if anyone knew anything, they did. 

“No.” Arthur shot down the idea, rapid fire. “We are not asking him.”

“Oh for the love of- Arthur!” Liam groaned, letting his head fall to the table. 

“Ye two banged once ‘n now yer salty, we get it, Artie.” Allistor sighed. “But he might know somethin’ useful. Ye don’t even need ta talk ta him, I’ll talk. But we need ta do this fer Finn.” 

Arthur sighed deeply and rubbed his temples.


End file.
